


Only a Dream

by elliex



Series: Dreamworlds [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort, Dreams, M/M, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:45:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a terrifying dream.</p><p>Note: This was written pre-season 9 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Dream

+

The Blade pierced layers of clothing, shredding the finely wrought fibers before plunging into the perfect expanse of skin, through muscle and tissue. The frantic heart pulsed once, twice – and then it stopped. Light erupted. 

Cornflower blue eyes stared at him, unseeing, their brilliance dimmed in death.

Ferociously, he yanked the Blade out of the body that crumpled to the ground. The imprint of broken wings cushioned its fall.

He glanced idly at the other body, leaning against the wall. Its throat cut, its long brown hair matted in blood.

He stared at the Blade, painted in still-warm blood. Flesh and sinew hung from its jagged teeth.

The Mark burrowed itself further into his skin, burning its way to his soul.

Searing pain flushed his body and . . .

+

He jerked awake, his heart pounding. _What the hell was that?_   He switched on the lamp, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself.

“Dean?” A tousled head raised up, beloved eyes blinking blearily at him. “What’s wrong?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but lost the words. _Cornflower blue eyes, cloaked in the haze of death_. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered, scrambling from the bed and rushing into the bathroom.

He expelled the contents of his stomach and dragged the back of his shaking right hand across his mouth. _The Mark_.

Fear crept along his spine. _What if_ —?

He forced himself to look, only feeling partially relieved when he saw that his forearm remained unblemished except for a dusting of freckles.

Cas came into the room, concern knitting his brow. “Dean? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Dean heard that voice, remembered how the Blade had felt tearing through flesh—and his awareness narrowed to his knees pressing into the hard linoleum, his left arm stretched along the porcelain toilet bowl. A spasm tore through his guts, and he heaved into the bowl, dryly, painfully.

He heard water running. “Here, use this to rinse your mouth out,” Cas said, holding a cup to his lips. Dean sipped, swished, and spat – all the while staring resolutely at the plaid pants covering the legs that had been wrapped around his waist not three hours ago. He could not look up at Cas, at his lips, at his eyes.

Another spasm hit him, but this time, he only mustered a bloody trail of spit. His throat ached, his stomach twisted.

Warm hands and gentle fingers rubbed up and down his back, small circles that anchored him to this world, to this room, to this man.

“Okay now?,” Cas asked softly.

Dean nodded once. “Think so.”

The hands slipped under his arms and helped pull him up. Cas reached over and flushed the toilet, dropping its lid, and maneuvering Dean so that he could sit down.

Cas wet a washcloth and carefully washed Dean’s face. The coolness brushed across his skin like a benediction, soothing the itch under his skin, the pressure behind his eyes. Cas gently pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead.

“No fever,” he said. “Are you achy? Does your head hurt?”

 _My soul hurts_ , Dean wanted to say. He shook his head instead.

Cas set his lips into a thin line, eyeing Dean contemplatively. When Dean looked up into those blue eyes, as familiar to him as his own, the tears he’d been holding back spilled down his face.

“Dean! What’s wrong?”

Dean reached for Cas then, wrapping his arms around Cas’s hips, pulling him close. Cas’s arms settled around Dean’s shoulders, one hand tangled in his hair. Dean pressed his face to Cas’s stomach as he sobbed loudly, brokenly.

Cas held him tightly until Dean was spent – minutes, hours – Dean didn’t know. When he stopped shaking, Cas slipped a hand between them, touching a finger under Dean’s chin. Dean complied and looked up, his eyes bloodshot, the fine tissue around them dotted with blooming petechiae.

“You’re scaring me,” Cas said softly. “What’s going on?”

Dean shook his head.

“No, Dean. You have to tell me. _You have to_.”

Dean sighed. He pressed his forehead to Cas’s stomach. “Bad dream,” he muttered.

“Must have been some dream to do this kind of number on you.”

“It was.”

“Tell me.”

“Cas—“

“ _Tell me_.”

So Dean told him – about the bloodlust that had raged inside him, about cutting Sam’s throat, about…. about what he’d done to dream Cas, about the Blade, and about the Mark.

Cas looked grim by the time Dean was done, but he never once flinched, never moved. One hand continued to thread its fingers through Dean’s hair, the other rubbed comfortingly across Dean’s broad shoulders.

“It was a dream, Dean.”

“It felt real, Cas – I’ve… I’ve never felt anything like that. It was terrifying. Intoxicating. Like I’d slipped into some parallel dimension – Dream me didn’t even realize what he’d done yet. But I knew that when I – when _he_ – did that he was going to fling himself off the nearest cliff.”

He tightened his arms. “I can’t live without you, Cas. You know that.”

Cas bent and pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “I can’t live without you either.”

He tugged Dean to his feet and got him in front of the sink. Cas put toothpaste on Dean’s brush and held it out to him. He rinsed the cup he’d handed Dean earlier and poured a shot of mouthwash into it.

Dean held the toothbrush in his right hand, staring at it as if it were an alien object. Cas gently laid his hand on Dean’s arm. Dean looked at Cas’s hand and then glanced up, meeting Cas’s wide blue eyes in the mirror.

“It’s a toothbrush, not a blade,” Cas said softly. “You wash up. I’m going to get you something to drink, okay?”

Dean nodded. Cas’s gaze searched Dean for a long moment before he lightly squeezed Dean’s arm and nodded in turn. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said quietly.

Cas’s footsteps padded down the hallway. Dean stared at the toothbrush a long moment before he finally forced himself to touch the bristles to his teeth.

He was changing into fresh pajamas when Cas came back into the bedroom.

“It’s the orange kind,” Cas said apologetically, setting the glass on Dean’s nightstand. “But it’ll help balance your electrolytes. I added the tropical punch flavor to next week's grocery list.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. He was still having trouble meeting Cas’s worried eyes. _The blood ran down the blade and dripped everywhere – even on my shoes. And I did nothing to help –_ He shut his eyes and fought the nausea bubbling up inside of him.

An arm slipped around his waist. “Okay, back to bed you go. You look like you’re going to hit the floor.”

“Feel like it too,” Dean mumbled.

Cas helped Dean into the bed and handed him the glass. “Drink,” he ordered before he started sorting out the bedclothes Dean had thrown into a messy heap.

“You going to tuck me in?,” Dean asked with a weak grin. 

“Yes,” Cas said, pulling the covers up. He looked at the untouched liquid in the glass Dean was holding. “Drink.”

“I hate the orange.”

“Cry me a river,” Cas said archly. “Every drop, Dean Winchester. I mean it.”

“Or else what?”

Cas hmmed for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face. “Or I withhold blowjobs for a month.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Cas arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Asshole,” Dean muttered into his glass before turning it up and downing the foul stuff. “Next time, don’t forget the red kind.”

“Next time, add it to the list when _you_ finish off the last bottle,” Cas retorted. There was no bite in their words. Dean needed banter to get his equilibrium back; Cas would give it to him. This is how they were.

Cas gently took the empty glass and set it back on the nightstand. He made Dean lean forward a minute so he could adjust the pillows.

Dean settled back with a sigh. Cas’s right hand cupped the side of Dean’s face; his thumb brushed across his cheekbone. Dean looked into those blue eyes, and this time he didn’t look away.

“You okay now?” Cas asked softly.

“I think so – it was just so … so _real_.”

Cas nodded but didn’t say anything. Dean saw Cas reach for the lamp switch and flinched. He always preferred the room be dark – moonlight was enough to deal with – but right now? Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief when Cas only dimmed the light rather than extinguish it entirely.

Cas walked around and climbed in on his side of the bed. “Come here,” he said to Dean, who willingly turned and slipped into Cas’s outstretched arms. Dean laid his head over the heart he’d dreamed had stilled at his hand. The memory made Dean’s own heart clench in his chest. Cas held him protectively.  

“Everything's okay,” Cas said, his voice even and reassuring. “I’m here; I’m fine. Sam is fine. He and Sarah are in Kansas City opening her new art gallery; they’re coming for dinner next Saturday night, and we’ll watch the game and yell obscenities at the screen.”

Dean smiled against Cas’s bare chest.

“You’ve never killed anyone. You don’t have a blade made of a jawbone, and I don’t have wings. We’re not your dream, Dean.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment. “This is the third one, Cas.”

The hand that was reassuringly stroking Dean’s arm paused for a second before resuming. “You’ve dreamed this before?”

“No – other dreams. Once I… I think I was in hell - stretched out on a rack, broken and bloodied and... Anyway. I dreamed that years ago, before I met you.”

“And the other?”

 “It was you and me – and another guy who I think was a vampire. We were in a place that was full of monsters – dark, cold… _brutal_.”

“Where was I when you had that one?”

“At your conference in Milwaukee – summer before last.” Dean raised his head and looked at Cas. “They feel so real; it takes me days to get over them. What if – never mind,” he said, laying his head back down.

Cas slipped his hand up Dean’s shoulder and neck, sliding his fingers through the hair at the back of his head and massaging slowly. Dean felt his tension ease - Cas always knew what calmed him down.

“What if what?” 

“What if – what if it _is_ real? Not here,” he added hastily, “but somewhere else.”

“Like Bizarro World?”

“Yeah, kind of. Like another set of us living another life – one filled with monsters and fear and death.”

“Instead of our boring, suburban lives?” Cas asked, the smile clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Dean said, pressing a kiss to Cas’s sternum. “The boring, suburban life I lured you into. You’d be off excavating pyramids and shit if it weren’t for me.”

“I’m much happier with you than I would be traipsing across a desert, Dean. And you’re one to talk – you’d probably be an engineer for NASA if it weren’t for me.”

“I like what I do.”

“As do I. Teaching is what I was always drawn to, anyway – I never had any delusions about being Indiana Jones.”

Dean said in a dreamy tone, “I’d take his class.”

Cas whacked him lightly on the arm. “You’d cheat on me with Jones? For shame.”

“ _You’d_ cheat on _me_ with Jones.”

“Eh - fair enough.” Cas paused. “Though, you know, I bet he’s the sort who’d be up for a ménage à trios.”

Dean laughed. “Dude, I would be so on board with that.” He glanced up at Cas, who was smiling. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly kissed his way up until he met those tempting pink lips. Cas’s mouth was warm and welcoming, and they melted into each other, tenderly and lovingly.

When they finally broke apart, Dean pressed his forehead to Cas’s. “I love you,” he said.

Cas ran his hands up and down Dean’s sides, fingertips skimming over the body that he knew by heart. “I love you.”

Cas smiled at him. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He kissed Cas once more, chastely, and then settled back against his chest, sighing in contentment as those strong arms held him close again.

A few minutes later, Cas spoke. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“In your dreams – are you and I… are we _us_?,” Cas asked. He reached for Dean’s left hand, covering it with his own, palm to back, and slipping his fingers through Dean’s. Their wedding bands clinked.

Dean curled his fingers over Cas’s. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I always know that I love you, and it always feels like you love me, but it’s like – it’s like we haven’t gotten the nerve to do anything about it.”

“Huh,” Cas said thoughtfully. “Well, if they’re our bizarro twins, I hope they figure it out - and, you know, don't kill each other.”

“Me too.” The mood was somber. To lighten the moment, Dean grinned lasciviously and said, “Hey, if our worlds collide, maybe we can have a four-way?”

Cas snorted. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“I’m _adorable_ , and you know it.”

“Yes, I do. Goodnight, love.”

“G’night, Cas.”

Dean shut his eyes and listened to the steady beating of Cas’s heart, his even breathing. He felt the pressure of Cas’s arm across his shoulders and of Cas’s fingers between his.

When he drifted off to sleep this time, there were no monsters waiting.

 +


End file.
